. One lady, who, I was told, was the
wife of a physician killed on the Peninsula, came out on the front
porch and asked every soldier she saw to come in and have hot coffee and
biscuit. The men gave her coffee, which she made in a wash-boiler, but
the biscuits were made from flour she possessed, which by this time was
about exhausted. As it was likely to be several days before normal
conditions could be restored in the town, I suggested that she had
better cease baking biscuits and save the little flour she had for her
family, when she replied that she would take the chance, that as long as
she had any she was going to give it to the soldiers.

About this time Nick, the General's bugler, came to me and reported that
he had found a citizen who had fought with our troops and been wounded,
an old man, and Nick wanted a doctor to go and see him as he was in his
own house nearby. This citizen proved to be the famous John Burns, an
old man of seventy, who fought, I think with a Wisconsin regiment.
Whether anybody else had discovered Burns before Nick did I am not sure,
but my recollection is that Nick's discovery first called the attention
of our people to the fact.

General Gregg's command then moved out on the Chambersburg pike, where
for miles we saw the distressing evidences of the battle in the shape of
the Confederate wounded, who were in every barn and building and lying
beside the road. It had rained heavily the night before and the fields
in which these men lay were flooded with water. Those able to do so had
secured rails, upon which their helpless comrades were placed to keep
them out of the water. I think the division that day captured, including
the wounded, about four thousand. General Gregg sent back a report of
the condition of these poor Confederate wounded whom Lee had been
obliged to leave behind, and asked that ambulances be sent out to take
them in where they could have the attention of our surgeons, then
overworked and exhausted caring for the thousands of wounded among our
own men.

From Chambersburg we marched back to Gettysburg and thence to
Boonesborough, arriving there about the ninth. In the neighborhood of
Boonesborough we met the Seventh New York militia, whose fine band of
about sixty pieces, led by Graffula, that night serenaded General Meade.
The square in front of his headquarters was thronged with men listening
to the fine music, the like of which we never heard in the army. One
man, I th